Chapter 2

Lena

“Absolutely not.”

Zara nearly choked on her iced coffee. “You haven’t even heard of the idea yet.”

“I don’t need to.” I shoved my laptop into my bag and stood from the library table. “If your idea involves Kane Ravenwood, illegal activity, or emotional damage, the answer is no.”

“That’s literally all my ideas.”

“Exactly.”

She followed me out of the library with dramatic suffering written across her face. “You’re so difficult for someone with such a pretty face.”

I ignored her.

The October air outside Blackthorn University carried that sharp coldness that bit through clothes and turned everyone miserable. Students rushed across campus wrapped in oversized hoodies while orange leaves covered the sidewalks.

Meanwhile, giant Ravens hockey banners hung from nearly buildings like the school worshipped the team more than actual education.

Pathetic.

“You know,” Zara said casually, “most people would be excited that Kane Ravenwood noticed them.”

I stopped walking immediately.

“He did not notice me.”

“He stared at you like you personally offended him.”

“That’s just his face.”

She laughed. “No, seriously. That was weird.”

I resumed walking faster. “You’re imagining things.”

But honestly?

I’d been thinking about it all night.

The way his eyes locked onto mine.

The strange look on his face when he saw Mason’s necklace.

The guilt.

It made no sense.

Kane Ravenwood didn’t feel guilty about anything.

“Maybe he knows your brother,” Zara suggested.

I shot her a look.

“Mason literally played for the Ravens,” she defended. “It’s possible.”

Possible, yes.

Likely? No.

Mason rarely talked about his old teammates after everything happened. Whenever I brought up hockey, his entire expression changed. Like the memories physically hurt him.

Especially when Kane’s name came up.

I tightened my grip on my bag.

“Forget it,” I muttered.

Unfortunately, Blackthorn University clearly had other plans.

Because the moment we reached the journalism building, chaos exploded.

Students crowded the hallway.

Phones out.

Whispering.

Somebody was yelling.

“What happened?” Zara asked.

A girl turned toward us excitedly. “Kane got into another fight.”

Of course he did.

I pushed through the crowd toward the large TV mounted near the student lounge.

A video played across the screen.

The quality was shaky, filmed on someone’s phone outside a club near campus.

Kane stood in the middle of the parking lot wearing all black, blood smeared across his knuckles while security tried holding him back.

A guy lay on the ground nearby.

Unmoving.

My stomach dropped slightly.

People screamed in the background while Kane fought against the security guards gripping his arms.

He looked furious.

No.

Not furious.

Feral.

“You touch her again,” Kane snarled at the unconscious guy, “and I’ll kill you.”

The video ended there.

Silence filled the hallway for half a second before everyone started talking at once.

“Oh my God.”

“He’s insane.”

“That guy’s going to the hospital.”

“I heard NHL scouts were there.”

“He’s done for.”

I crossed my arms tightly.

Typical Kane behavior.

Violence first. Thinking later.

The journalism professor suddenly walked into the hallway looking stressed. “Lena.”

I blinked. “What?”

“Office. Now.”

Great.

Zara mouthed good luck as I followed Professor Bennett down the hallway.

His office smelled like coffee and old paper. Stacks of assignments covered every surface.

He closed the door behind me with a sigh.

“I need a favor.”

“That sentence never ends well.”

“Student paper wants an exclusive story on Ravenwood.”

I nearly laughed.

“No.”

“You didn’t even let me finish.”

“I don’t need to.”

Professor Bennett removed his glasses tiredly. “Lena, you’re one of the best writers in this department.”

“And?”

“And nobody else can get close to him.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

“It’s a career opportunity.”

“It’s Kane Ravenwood.”

“Exactly.”

I stared at him in disbelief.

Was everyone on campus secretly insane?

“You know I don’t write sports articles.”

“This isn’t about sports anymore,” he said carefully. “The university’s worried. Sponsors are threatening to pull funding after last night.”

Good.

“The administration wants positive media coverage before this becomes a bigger scandal.”

I frowned slowly.

“Wait. You want me to make him look good?”

“Interview him.”

“No.”

“Lena—”

“No.”

The word came out sharper this time.

Professor Bennett studied me quietly for a moment.

“You still blame him for Mason.”

The tension in the room thickened instantly.

I looked away first.

“My brother lost everything because of that team.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I swallowed hard.

The truth was ugly.

Did I blame Kane specifically?

Maybe not entirely.

But hatred needed a face sometimes.

And Kane Ravenwood’s face was easy to hate.

Professor Bennett sighed again. “Look, I’m not forcing you. But this article could help your portfolio. Internship applications open soon.”

Damn it.

He knew exactly where to hit.

Journalism internships were brutally competitive at Blackthorn.

And I needed one.

Badly.

“Just one interview?” I asked carefully.

“Yes.”

“One article.”

“Yes.”

I hesitated.

Every instinct screamed no.

But another part of me—the stubborn curious part—wanted answers.

Wanted to know why Kane looked guilty yesterday.

I wanted to understand what really happened three years ago.

Professor Bennett noticed my silence immediately.

“That’s not a yes,” he said.

“It’s not a no either.”

A slow smile appeared on his face. “I’ll take it.”

I groaned softly.

Big mistake.

Huge mistake.

Two hours later, I stood outside Ravens Arena questioning every decision that led me here.

The building looked quieter during the day. Less chaotic. Still intimidating.

I tightened my coat around myself before stepping inside.

Cold air hit instantly.

The sound of skates cutting across ice echoed through the massive arena.

Practice.

A few players moved across the rink while coaches shouted instructions from the sidelines.

Then I saw him.

Kane.

Even from far away, he stood out.

Fast. Aggressive. Controlled.

Like violence wrapped in talent.

He slammed another player against the boards hard enough to shake the glass.

The coach yelled something.

Kane ignored him completely.

Typical.

I walked carefully down the steps toward the rink.

One of the assistant coaches noticed me first.

“You lost?”

“I’m here to interview Kane Ravenwood.”

The man looked surprised.

Then amused.

“Good luck with that.”

Wonderful.

Before I could respond, a whistle echoed sharply across the ice.

Practice stopped.

Players skated toward the benches while removing helmets.

Kane pulled him off slowly, dark hair damp with sweat.

And then his eyes found me again.

Instantly.

Like he sensed me before he even looked.

The air shifted.

One teammate leaned toward him, clearly saying something.

Kane didn’t answer.

Didn’t blink either.

Just stared at me from across the rink with that same cold intensity.

God.

It was unnerving.

He stepped off the ice.

Slowly.

The closer he got, the more intimidating he became.

Tall.

Broad shoulders.

Fresh bruises near his jaw.

And those terrifying gray e

yes locked onto mine like lasers.

Every survival instinct in my body activated at once.

But I refused to move.

Kane stopped directly in front of me.

Up close, he looked even worse.

Not ugly.

Dangerous.

There was a difference.

“You’re Mason Hart’s sister,” he said finally.

Not a question.

My heartbeat stumbled.

So he did know exactly who I was.